Apathy
by Ersatz Smile
Summary: Kurda Smahlt was never brought to justice by Darren Shan. Darren perished horribly on his way down the rapids in the Hall of Final Voyage. Now, with the Princes out of the way, a new beast reigns over the creatures of the night. (Slash. SteveKurda.)
1. Sleep

**A/N**: Heh. Here's my take on what would have happened had Kurda's plan to form a link between the two clans succeeded -- with a bit of slash thrown in for color.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Cirque Du Freak.

* * *

Kurda's smiles became increasingly strained, and ever more forced as the time of his invesititure crept closer. He became a Prince that night, and every vampire in the hall raised a glass to his name, cheering on their new Prince. That's when everything went spiraling out of control. One by one, Paris, Mika, and Arrow slumped over the table or out of their chairs entirely. Three lives were extinguished in the blink of an eye that night. 

Kurda remembered even ages later how Paris had looked just before he went.

How the old vampire had looked directly into his eyes. As though he _knew._ And he might known; but the poison was working it's deadly charms by that point. With a sinking feeling in his gut, Kurda watched silently as the life flew from the eldest Prince's eyes, so suddenly.

_It's for the good of the clan, it's for the good of the clan, _Kurda kept telling himself. That sole thought gave him strength, assured him what he was doing was right, while the losses would be regretable. Many more died after that night. Noble but foolish people who refused to abandon their ways and throw in their lot with that of the vampaneze. Larten Crepsley, Arra Sails, Vanez Blane, Seba Nile...countless others. Or so he was told.

_It's for the good of the clan, it's for the good of the clan. _Even that thought was stolen away from Kurda in the end. It started slowly at first. The thought began to lose it's touch as the death toll rose steadily higher.

Now, it only brought a bitter smile to Kurda's lips. It was all a joke. There were now more vampaneze in the mountain then there were vampires. It _wasn't _for the good of the clan at all... he had messed up. There must have been some other way to solve things. He must have missed it. He hadn't thought hard enough, had acted too hastily.

Kurda tormented himself every hour with these thoughts. And he had an endless supply of time to reflect. It was virtually all he could do now.

He thought he would be executed as a traitor after things settled down. He was shocked when, as the vampire clan dwindled, he wasn't escorted to the Hall of Death. Instead, he was sent to his bedroom. _His bedroom!_ What was this about? Even now, he didn't know. They kept guards, purple-skinned vampaneze, of course, outside his door at all times.

Perhaps they sought to drive him mad with the silence. Yes, that made sense. There were no answers to his questions. Every time he interrogated his guards, they would only respond with impaitent grunts. He was only told about the losses -- news of Vanez's death struck him particularly hard -- when a youthful vampaneze let it slip when he was tipsy one night while on guard duty.

And Kurda had lots of questions. Why hadn't he been put to death? What was happening outside the walls of his prison? Why was he being imprisoned in the first place?

Those questions swirled through Kurda's head constantly, along with recollections of the past. Since the past was so painful, Kurda would often assess the questions, rather then wallow in the past and fall into depression. Kurda refused to allow himself to do that. It would be so easy, but he wouldn't allow it. He knew he had to remain sharp, even if only to live long enough to find the answers to his questions. In a way, the questions both tormented him and kept him alive.

To punctuate the silences, Kurda had taken to marking off the days that passed by leaving deep scratches in the walls of his room with his nails. If he was correct, a little over a month had passed since he had been thrown in here.

Kurda sighed, rolling over in his coffin. He tried to pass the time by sleeping, but most nights didn't succeed. Tonight was no different. What time was it? He didn't know. Was it day or night? Again, he didn't know. Kurda realized with startling clarity that everything was beginning to fall away, despite his struggles to remain fresh. Within a few months, he imagined he would be a screaming wreck. His fears were closing in on him and he couldn't escape.

* * *

A few days slipped by. Kurda was pacing his room -- no, _cell_. That's exactly what it was. His eyes swept his cell as he paced continuously, back and forth... like beast, feral but caged. 

_I could...try clawing my way out, _Kurda thought, reaching out and desperately running his nails over the rough stone barrier.

It would take ages for him to make even a dent. And by then the vampaneze that stopped by just long enough to slip food into his cell would notice. They would restrain him. For now, he was granted the ability to move around his confined space, atleast. But how long would it be before they took that away from him, too?

* * *

Silence. It was suffocating him, killing him slowly. But it wasn't, and that's what was so cruel about it. Atleast in death he would be able to escape. But he was a disgrace; the Gods of the vampires told him so. This was his punishment for slaughtering the clan. Kurda moaned, covering his face with his hands. It was so hot. And so very hard to breathe. He needed to get out...he was going to die. He wanted to die, but he didn't. It made no sense! 

Kurda didn't sleep in his coffin anymore, but on the ground. The room he was in was already painfully small. He wasn't about to crawl into an even more cramped area.

He laid on the ground, often staring at the walls. They seemed to be getting closer and closer to him. As though closing in on him. Perhaps they would crush him? At that thought, his heart raced faster then ever, pounding against his ribs. How much time had passed, how much? Days, months, years? Kurda no longer kept track of the days.

He didn't know, it no longer mattered. Kurda was losing the battle.

* * *

That day, food was not brought to him as usual. Ah, they weren't going to deprive him of his mobile skills -- they planned to starve him instead! 

"Please, please, no... Please," Kurda whispered. His voice was hoarse from lack of use, but he didn't notice. "Come on... where's the food? Where's the...food, you bastards? No, please..." One moment, he would be cursing the name of the vampaneze, the next begging. He didn't know which way he wanted to go, honestly. They had ruined his life, and yet they were the only thing keeping him alive at the same time. How could you truly hate those that kept you in the land of the living?

It was just like how he wished to die, and yet he didn't. Kurda was completely mixed up about anything and everything these days. He couldn't help it; the walls were closing in on him.

* * *

Two days later,and he still wasn't being given food. Kurda now screamed openly, howling at his captors to free, or atleast feed him. His pleas fell on deaf ears. When his energy was entirely spent and he could scream no more, he would just collapse in the corner of his cell, sobbing. But the tears wouldn't come. Countless sobs would wrack his frame, but his eyes remained dry. He spent away his tears long ago. 

Though now, atleast, he knew the answer to one of his questions. They didn't send him to the Hall of Death simply because that was too swift, too merciful. This punishment was a hundred times worse then the Hall of Death could ever be.

* * *

Even more time passed. Along with his guilt, nightmares, and fears, Kurda was now plagued by a constant ache. It never faded, and was nearly painful by this point. He was hungry, and it would only grow worse. 

He was in the center of his cell. He didn't go close to the walls -- convinced they would choose to close in even faster then they currently were if he did. "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight..." He murmured under his breath. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three..." He often performed this exercise to break the silence, and still his racing heart. It helped. More then his screaming did, anyway. That only riled him up worse then ever.

Though now, it was growing harder to remain calm even for a short while. He ran a hand through his unkempt, dirty blond hair, breathing heavily.His heart rate increased. He was seconds away from fading into one of his screaming fits again. Kurda wasn't certain what happened during those times. One moment, he would be clear-headed and thinking about...Gavner's death, for instance.

The next, his fears would come back, full force. He would try to calm down, and then... then...nothing. Just blackness. Later, when he returned to his senses, his throat would be raw and sore, his voice hopelessly cracked from screaming for hours on end.

His vision blurred, his breathing became harsh pants that rang in his ears. _Here...it...comes, _he thought.

A sound that was neither breathing nor screaming broke through the silence like a gunshot. _Footsteps. _Kurda froze, hardly daring to believe it. The panic attack that had almost overcome him slunk back into the shadows of his mind. They were coming! To feed him, or kill him? It didn't matter! Kurda was just so relieved. Tears that had been painfully absent for the past few weeks began to flow blissfully down his cheeks, leaving clear trails in the smudges of dirt that had gathered on his flesh.

The door snapped open. Two vampaneze appeared, both with entirely unfamiliar faces. One's purple skin was creased with deep lines, while the other looked to be in his twenties or so. "There he is," The elder one said gruffly, advancing a few paces. He placed a hand over his mouth and nose, as though he smelled something foul. And he probably did. Kurda didn't notice the smell though -- he had been imprisoned for so long, he was immune.

Kurda didn't move. He just stared, wide-eyed, at the two. He was at a complete loss for words.

"**Him**? He's the one that's been howling the roof down all this time?" The young one snorted disdainfully. It only registered vaguely with him who they were speaking of.

"Mm, yeah. Enough jabbering, now. Let's just do what we have to do." The elder one answered. He grabbed Kurda's arm. With help from his companion, they hauled Kurda to his feet. Kurda didn't struggle, didn't scream, didn't speak. He just allowed them to drag him out of his cell. Into the hall. A powerful emotion swept over him. Relief. He was _free_! His eyes darted this way and that, taking in the corridors that seemed so alien to him now.

The vampaneze tightened their grip on him, as though they thought he might run. That was the farthest thing from Kurda's mind at that time. He was too fascinated with the sights and sensations -- the pain of their rough grip, it was so real, it was intoxicating! -- to think about running.

His legs were shaking so much they had to practically drag him down the corridor. Where were they taking him? To the Hall of Death? If that were so, it was okay. Kurda would comply, with a smile on his face. He was free!

* * *

**A/N**: Erm, yes! Kurda's just a little cuckoo right now. Heheh. This was really fun to type out. I love tormenting Kurda. I don't know why, but I've always had a sadistic streak -- especially when it concerns blonds. Hmmm. Well, review if you like. This NOT a one-shot like my other two, and will actually be continued. Slashy-ness up ahead, beware! 


	2. Well

**A/N**: Hey, it's me again. You didn't think I abandoned this story, did you? No way. Not with reviews like the ones that I've received. They certainly were...colorful! Ehehe. Plus this story is just too fun to write. I'm still kind of nervous about this, though. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that I was typing up 300 word stories that involved chat speak, gaping plot holes, and/or mistakes pertaining to certain facts. Hmm... But I think I've gotten better. I hope so, anyway!

_PS_: I think Kurda has blue eyes. Am I wrong? I don't think I am, but I couldn't find a mention of it in any of the books, so that makes me suspicious...hmm.

**Disclaimer**: See this? See the characters, the pretty vampires/vampanezes? Don't own 'em.

Kurda remained mute as he was dragged, none too lightly, onward. Previously, he would have done anything to be near the vampaneze - near anyone. In order to voice his complaints, to demand for more freedoms, or beg if necessary. Now that he was finally within their presence, however, he found he could think of nothing to say. The younger vampaneze started getting edgy by Kurda's silence after a short while.

"Sure he isn't planning to escape? He's awfully quiet." He demanded, speaking as though Kurda were not there, or was too stupid to understand him.

The elder one shook his head dismissively. "He's weak now; his food supply was cut off for a while. Besides, even if he managed to slip by us - " He snorted incredulously as he spoke. "- he wouldn't get very far. I suspect he's finally lost his voice. I daresay he had plenty to say beforehand." A dark smile crossed his amethyst face.

The younger one nodded, looking a bit more sure of himself. He gave Kurda's arm a rough shake. "Yeah. You hear that? You better not plan on doing anything stupid. It would be a waste of time - though it could be interesting... for us." He sneered.

"Stop taunting the vampire already, Tyros." The elder one said sternly. The younger one, Tyros, looked as though he would like to retaliate in some way. Clearly he wasn't used to being reprimanded in such a manner. But he never got the chance, as they finally reached their destination.

And it wasn't the Hall of Death at all. Kurda blinked owlishly when he found himself in the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl. He gazed at the two roaring waterfalls uncomprehendingly, confusion dancing within his cerulean eyes. Did they intend to...drown him in the falls? That was the only logical thing he could think of. Because surely, surely they weren't seeking to bathe him. The idea was laughable.

A weak cry escaped Kurda's throat when his clothes were, literally, torn from his frame.

The faded rags had grown flimsy over time, and even someone who lacked the power of the creatures of the night would have mostlikely been able to rip them away, but it still caught Kurda by surprise.

"Wha -" He gasped, the first word - or, half word - that had passed his lips since the vampaneze appeared. Whatever Kurda had intended to exclaim was lost. Without warning, he was shoved beneath one of the icy falls.

Kurda didn't scream, though he longed to.

The sudden blast of water stunned him beyond vocalization...which was in a way, lucky; Kurda was atleast spared from accidentally inhaling a load of water during the excruciating process. He was in an ice-cold hell for nearly a full minute. And then rough hands seized him by the shoulders and, just as abruptly as they had shoved him in, tugged him clear of the onslaught of water. Kurda was only faintly aware that someone was toweling him dry.

Even though said person, Tyros, was muttering obscenities and cursing his name throughout the act - "Filthy git, don't know why we have to..." - he still felt strangely grateful.

The contact, though brief, was heavenly. In a time that might not have happened to begin with, for all the good it did him now, he remembered his mother used to do the exact same thing for him as a child. Towelled him dry after a nice, hot bath. "Don't even deserve..." he continued to mutter darkly. Given, she had been gentle and caring, whereas this man was being coarse and apathetic. But it was appreciated all the same.

And then it was over. The towel was tugged away the moment he was atleast half dry, though his long hair still trailed damp rivulets across his face.

The vampaneze tossed a deep blue garment at him. "Put that on. You'll need to look presentable for the Lord." He ordered gruffly. _For...the Lord? _Kurda wondered numbly. Tyros continued to glare at him coldly. "Unless you'd like to go starkers, of course? Heh. _I've _got no qualms with that. But it'll be your funeral." He grinned sadistically.

Kurda didn't hesitate after that. He pulled the robe on. The material was soft to the touch, almost like silk, and Kurda found himself inwardly marvelling at the feel of it.

Tyros looked him up and down, and grunted. "Better then what you looked like before, anyway. Let's just hope it's enough of a change for him, hmmm? Because if he's not pleased, then no one is, right?" He muttered angrily. He wasn't truly addressing to him, and so Kurda didn't feel obligated to respond.

"Come on! Don't stand around gawping all day - let's go. He's waiting!" Tyros said abruptly. Kurda refrained from pointing out that he wasn't the one that had been talking to himself.

He was dragged off again, away from the Hall of Perta Vin-Grahl with it's frigid sprays. The elder vampaneze was gone, Kurda noted. He must have slipped away during the time Kurda had been submerged in the waterfall.

"Oh hell, oh hell. If we're late... it's your arse and mine. We're both going down. HURRY UP!" Tyros barked, fire flaring within his crimson eyes. Kurda was astonished to see such abject terror in the vampaneze's eyes. What could inflict such fear in a man? He had spoken of a Lord, before...a Lord...at the time, Kurda was still too dazed to make any sense of it. But finally, it clicked.

Lord. The Lord. _The Lord of the Vampaneze._ Kurda's insides froze over instantly.

The Lord of the Vampaneze, the mythical tyrant that was said to be the harbinger of destruction for the vampire clan. No, not mythical. He was very real, he knew that by now. And, evidently, Kurda would be facing him in a few moments. Tyros, meanwhile, had gone berserk. During the entire time Kurda was frantically thinking, putting things together, he had been tugging frantically at Kurda's arm - and shouting. Kurda didn't move, nor did he seem to hear the vampaneze.

"You fool! Do you _want _to die? Are you trying to take me with you? Is that it? Is it, you - !" Finally, Tyros' patience - already so very short - snapped. He snatched Kurda up from the ground, as easily as though he were a small child, and threw him over his shoulder.

He fled, and was halfway down the corridor before Kurda was even able to choke out a disconcerted: "Eh?"

"Stupid - bloody - vampires. Stupid - bloody - vampires!" Tyros panted as he ran. Kurda barely heard him. He was too busy staring around. They were ascending through the tunnels. Kurda began to grow suspicious of their destination, and eventually his thoughts were confirmed. The glowing Hall of Princes loomed into view. Tyros dropped him instantly. Kurda landed on his feet, but lurched uncertainly to the side. The vampaneze caught his arm and steadied him.

"We're here. Well, what are you waiting for? Open the door. You are the Prince, aren't you?_ Yes_? Then do it!" Tyros snarled. He sounded utterly mad now.

Kurda couldn't deny a demand like that. Nodding shakily, he placed his hand on the glowing pannels of the entrance. The warmth radiating from the dome seeped into his hand and crept gradually down his arm, until it felt as though it were coursing through his entire body. The doors slid open to admit them.

Tyros ushered him into the cavern. It looked the same as always. The only difference Kurda could see, and he didn't notice immediately, was that the four thrones, once occupied by Paris, Mika, Arrow, and Vancha, were gone. In their place was a single more throne, though it was more elaborate then the old wooden ones had ever been. It was made of what appeared to be silver, the interior of it covered with dark velvet.

And lounging in the grand throne was a man. Kurda took in his clothes first; trousers, smooth and jet black, a shirt the exact same shade. His hands were obscured by a pair of fine leather gloves. Almost everything about the man was dark; except for his hair, which was long, a few of the stark strands hanging carelessly over his face, and complexion which was also an untouchable ivory hue. Kurda couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight. He looked at completely at ease, lounging there in the throne, as though in his own element.

"You're late," He murmured. It was a simple enough statement, but there was a subtle force behind his words which caused the vampaneze at Kurda's side to flinch.

Tyros instantly threw himself into a ridiculously deep bow. "I know, my Lord. Please except this worthless creature's apologies...I was...held up." And at those words, he shot Kurda a cold glare. Kurda paid no mind to the vampaneze's glare, however. His attention was focused solely on the white-haired man. Kurda was struck by how _normal _he appeared. He was truly the Lord of the Vampaneze? Kurda had his doubts. But according to Tyros... he was.

The man abandoned his casual stance, now sitting up straight in his throne. He took to tapping his fingers idly against the arm rest of his throne, his gaze straying elsewhere as Tyros rambled. When the vampaneze was through, he leaned forward slightly, his expression entirely unreadable. "I didn't ask for your sorry apologies and petty lies, now did I? If I want them - I will say so," He said coolly. "Until then...keep it to yourself. Understood?"

He never once raised his voice, but his subject was quivering as though he were roaring. Tyros winced, standing properly by this point. "Yes." He said quietly.

"Good. Now get out of my sight." The man commanded pleasantly.

Tyros did not need to be told twice. He was gone in a second, leaving Kurda to whatever destiny had in store for him.

So this was it. He was finally going to be killed, after all this time. His imprisonment had just been a teaser, Kurda was certain. He sighed softly, attempting to mentally prepare himself for what was to come. He knew, though, that when this man... this monster, moved in for the kill he would resort to acting as the wreck he had become. Despite his efforts, he would beg for mercy - that was inevitable. It was easy to be fearful, but draining to try and put on a brave mask. Still, he would try.

"Whatever you intend to do, I can't stop it. I can try to withstand it, I'll do my damnedest at that atleast, but I'll probably fail. I just want you to know, before you kill me... while I'm still in my correct frame of mind; I. Don't. Care." Kurda said unflinchingly. Each word had been a struggle for him. But he had to fight that inner instinct to live, because that, by this point, was surely impossible. All he wished to do now was build atleast some sense of pride for himself, before he went down begging and crying shamelessly, as he knew he would.

Silence greeted his speech. Kurda finally glanced up, trying to read the Vampaneze Lord's expression, but it was impossible. It was as blank as ever.

And then, quite suddenly, the cavern was filled with laughter. Rich, mirthful laughter; laughter at Kurda's expense. Kurda felt as though he had been kicked in the stomach. He glared at the man in disbelief, his own face burning with shame. Was what he said _that _pathetic? He didn't think so. It was honest, yes, but it was necessary to say! So why was he being laughed at now?

The laughter ceased as abruptly as it started. "You know what's one thing I hate more then people grovelling to me?" He asked conversationally, his tone strangely friendly.

Kurda shook his head slowly. "No... what?" He asked quietly, unable to hide his bewilderment.

"People attempting to predict my intentions." And then the Vampaneze Lord vaulted out of his throne. Kurda, usually so alert, didn't even see him lunge forward. It simply appeared as though the man disappeared from the throne and reappeared directly before him. He gazed calmly at Kurda, a predatory smirk crossing his lips. "Would you like to know _why_?" He purred, his breath ghosting warmly across Kurda's cheek.

Kurda stared at him, captivated by his eyes. They were an impossible shade of onyx, and though he longed to run, Kurda found himself slipping farther into their pitch depths. "...Why?" He asked weakly, hardly aware of what he was saying.

"It never works." He replied simply. "There are things, so many other things, that are worse than death. The vampire race's flaw was just that. They believed death was the worst the world could throw at them. They were wrong. Kurda, this is one thing I can promise you now, atleast: You do not need to fear death when you are within my presence. Not yet."

Despite the promise, Kurda felt far from assured. If anything, he felt even more on edge, unnerved by those cutting words.

The Vampaneze Lord's expression brightened suddenly. "So! Are you hungry? I bet you are. You haven't eaten in days, after all. Come with me. I'll set you up with some food." He snickered, catching Kurda's hand and lacing his fingers with Kurda's own. He led a numb, confused Kurda Smahlt across the Hall of Princes.

He was so confusing. One moment, he might seem intense and forboding.The next, he was startlingly docile. Kurda couldn't figure him out at all.

Though he did know one thing. He would have to tread carefully around this man.

**A/N**: Hah! Chapter 2. Hope you liked it. Kurda's calmed down a little bit, though I can tell you now... Cuckoo!Kurda isn't out of the picture yet. He'll show up in later chapters again, trust me. Also, I'm sorry if Steve seems a bit tame. But I've got things planned... I won't tell you what. But if you're anticipating dark themes and a distressed Kurda, I don't think you'll be disappointed at all. If you're looking for 'I love you, Steve!', 'Oh, I love you too Kurda, so much!' I think you might be a _little _bit disappointed. Hmm. grins Enough of my ranting. I suppose you'll just have to read on to see if my style fits your


	3. Now

**A/N**: It's alarmingly easy to type up a chapter in a matter of 60 minutes when your ego is soaring, dangerously. Mine recently went through the roof... just ask my muse... she hashad to endure my rants on how I'm planning to continue the story. Poor her. Poor Kurda, for that matter.

**Disclaimer**: Still don't own them.

**Review responses**:

Inyx: Yep, you missed the first chapter orgy. Sorry about that, haha. I just took one glance at the reviews and knew I had to continue straightaway. As for the... 'I love you, Steve!', 'Slave, what have you been smoking?'... You're right. It's going to be rather like that. Oh, this is going to be fun alright...

The Freaky Butt Mate: I'm glad you like him. I'm rather fond of Steve as well. Though I'm still in the process of working out his character... as you'll probably see in this chapter. I think we all start out at rock bottom. My stories had their share of Mary Sues as well, and oh, the asterisks, the random kidnapping, the pink Pokemon...I won't go there. I still have nightmares about them. It was horrible.

Love Psychedelico: Usually it takes me days to update. Sometimes longer. But this story seems to type itself. Heh. The tension is only going to get more pronounced from here on out, don't worry. Hmm. Mayonaise... I never thought of that. Sounds interesting. Wonder if they've got any in Vampire Mountain...could come in handy, haha.

Steve was... there was no other word for it - _cheerful_. Overly so.

Kurda found himself staring in amazement bordering on amusement at the stark-haired man. He tried to quash his feelings and remind himself who Steve truly was, the acts he had undoubtedly committed... but it was difficult. Steve's behavior was truly infectious. Steve covered all the bases in an astonishingly short time. He told Kurda his name, his age, and many other things. He was now moving on to complaining about his followers.

"And they're _always _terrified. They act like they respect me, but I know the truth. I disgust them." Steve was saying happily. He didn't sound too terribly upset by it, just minorly aggravated. "Hey, you haven't touched your bat broth."

It was true. Kurda was stubbornly ignoring the irritated grumbles generating from his stomach. Nevermind the fact he hadn't eaten in days. Now, Kurda dropped his gaze to the murky liquid. There was a small container of human blood at hand as well that he didn't dare look at. "I'm not really hungry." He murmured.

"That's a lie. You haven't been given a proper meal in five days, nor blood for even longer - I know. I gave that happy order." Steve said, fixing him with another one of his intense onyx stares. Kurda knew why Steve's followers squirmed as they did, now. Steve behaved decently enough, but his gaze...it was so cold. You couldn't help but wonder what was _really _going through his mind.

And now, he was telling Kurda that he was the one that ordered the vampaneze to starve him. Kurda knew beforehand, of course. So it shouldn't have come as a shock.

But envisioning the Vampaneze Lord and meeting him were two seperate things. He wasn't a tyrant, and didn't seem to thrive on the discomfort of others. Subconciously, Kurda began to relax around him in spite of his better judgement. Those words were like a slap to the face when Steve spoke them, so matter-of-factly, and Kurda instantly threw up his mental barriers, pushing his bowl of bat broth even farther away.

"_You_ ordered it?" He demanded. His voice was shaking subtly, and silently he offered up a prayer to the Gods of the vampires that Steve didn't notice.

There was something stirring within the infinite depths of Steve's dark gaze. Was it...amusement? Kurda bristled at that. Steve was having a laugh at him again! Albeit, the laughter was silent, but Kurda sensed it was there all the same. "You sound surprised." Steve said, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. "Who else do you think ordered it? Santa Claus?"

Kurda's face burned scarlet. He silently willed the blush that now coloured his cheeks to go away. Instead, it lingered stubbornly. "I... I knew it had to be you. But _why_?" He asked. His voice was definitely shaking by now, and he no longer cared. He was too preoccupied with his rage, and staring daggers at Steve.

Steve met his gaze nonchalantly, entirely unaffected by his companion's apparent anger. "I hardly need to explain myself to you, Kurda." Steve tutted, sardonic amusement still dancing within his eyes.

Kurda was tempted to lash out, to wipe that knowing smirk off of Steve's face. To him, his suffering was a mere stepping stone to whatever he was planning. The torment Kurda went through didn't matter to him, not in the least. After all, he was only one vampire, wasn't he? He was expendable...brilliantly lucky to still be breathing, infact. He struggled to control the impulse of hitting Steve.

"You still haven't touched your broth..." Steve said in a quiet, sing-song tone.

Kurda stared incredulously down at the broth again. Beforehand, he would have given his right arm for one more meal. Now, in the light of his anger, he only wanted to push it away. "Damn the broth," Kurda whispered, his words barely audible.

He arched a fine brow. "Come again?" Steve asked paitently.

"I said damn your broth! You had no right to - " Kurda began hotly.

That was exactly what he was waiting for. He baited Kurda, just a little bit, and then a little bit more. Finally, Kurda did exactly what he wanted, _needed_, him to do.

Steve was out of his chair in an instant, and the two bowls of bat broth and blood were shoved out of the way. He launched himself over the simple wooden table, the only barrier that seperated him from Kurda.

Kurda could only utter a faint yelp of surprise as Steve barrelled into him. He was thrown out of his chair in the blink of an eye. Before he knew what was going on, he was on the ground, pinned beneath the full weight of the Vampaneze Lord. And the man - no, _beast _- was furious.

Kurda closed his eyes, instantly retreating into the far corners of his mind. In his mind, he would be safe.

That's how it had always been in the room. When his mind wasn't assaulting him, certain memories - of his childhood and other such things - had proven to be a safehaven for him. It didn't matter what happened to him physically... he was always safe...in his mind...

A low, almost feral growl sounded above him. Despite himself, Kurda cracked a single eye open to stare at Steve. "What on earth are you doing?" Steve hissed, his tone laced in ill-disguised contempt. His hand became tangled within Kurda's hair, and he tugged harshly, causing the other to gasp faintly.

Kurda wasn't certain what he was talking about, and never found out, because Steve was speaking again. "Smahlt, they said you were known for your intelligence. I'm afraid some of that may have depleted since you were locked away. Have you forgotten your position? You're on **my **turf now. 'No right', you say?" Steve purred, his gaze level with Kurda's, their faces nearly touching. "I have every right. You're the one who has _no right_... I, however, could get away with murder here. I set the rules. You'll remember that, won't you?"

His hand was still curled in Kurda's hair. The threat of the pain he could inflict was never absent, though he was now stroking the strands softly, almost apologetically. "Won't you?" He repeated carefully, the petting becoming slightly more coarse as it had been before. Kurda remained entirely silent.

Common sense and the will to live screamed at Kurda to agree, whereas pride he didn't know he even possessed protested heatedly. Perhaps he didn't even have that streak at all in the past... It was possible the room and his solitary confinement had stirred it up in him. That period of his life had been absolute hell, full of shameless begging, broken sobs, and unrestrained screams that shattered the otherwise still air.

Now that he was free of that dizzying atmosphere, he was eager to reestablish some sense of self. Steve, however, had other ideas.

"You won't," Steve answered himself, his eyes, already impossibly dark, seeming to take on an even blacker quality. "You won't. This is amazing. I thought you were different from the rest of your kind. You condemned them, after all. And yet here you lay, denying the only man that stands between you and a swift trip to the Hall of Death. It's so...ironically..._funny_."

And then Steve's lips crashed into his, that hand still curled now almost painfully in his hair.

Steve kissed him roughly, there on the ground. Kurda didn't know how to respond. He stared at his captor through wide, astonished sapphire eyes. Steve stared straight back at him through his own lazily-lidded black shards, as though this were a regular occurance for him. Maybe it was. Steve took advantage of Kurda's shock and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into Kurda's laxly guarded mouth. He explored Kurda's mouth for a few endless seconds while the stunned vampire simply gaped.

The act increased tempo, became almost painful as the seconds crawled by, and lengthened gradually to a minute. Finally, Kurda snapped out of the trance-like state he had fallen into. He broke the kiss abruptly, panting and pressing his hands against Steve's chest to seperate them.

"Stop...!" Kurda protested breathlessly. Yet again, rage flashed dangerously within Steve's eyes.

"You're some piece of work, Smahlt. Talking down to _me._ You won't give me a hard time, will you? I suppose I should warn you now... I am not a paitent man, and I won't wait for you forever." He said.

"What...?" Kurda asked shakily, entirely thrown by Steve's words. Wait for _what_? He had nothing to offer!

Steve proceeded as though Kurda hadn't spoken at all. "Now, I think your insolence should be rewarded with... three days in solitary, I think. Perhaps then you'll appreciate me a bit more." He said, smirking wickedly. With that, he stood and dragged the dazed vampire to his feet as well.

Steve led him straight out of the hall, and through the tunnels. Kurda could only stumble along after him - the firm hold Steve had on his arm called for little else. "Not...not there, please." Kurda whispered. It suddenly seemed easier to fight against his pride, when faced with the threat of 'the room' again.

"Do you know how you tame an unruly child, Smahlt? You punish it. You punish it until it realizes what it's doing wrong, and corrects itself. The same rules apply to _you_. You stepped out of line, and now... you'll pay for it. And you'll continue to pay dearly for it, each time. Until you stop. And you will." Steve said, winking at him. They had reached the room. "You'll, _probably, _be fed. Though, before you tuck in... remember who supplies your food, and who can just as easily take it away."

And with that said, Steve shoved Kurda into the all too familiar room. "N..." Kurda began. The door snapped shut behind him before he got to finish. "No." And then he was left in total darkness. The candles that had previously lined the room were painfully absent, and Kurda found himself frantically wondering if the guards would supply him with some when they came around to feed him. _If _they came around to feed him.

Kurda sank to the floor, staring around blindly as the darkness and silence began to close in on him.


End file.
